


Calyptra thalictri

by starcunning



Series: Erebidae [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: BDSM, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, F/M, Masturbation, technically kallie's not the MAIN wol but u kno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2020-08-23 05:23:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20237446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starcunning/pseuds/starcunning
Summary: She needed him. She needed …“Nabriales,” she whimpered.“Yes?” she heard, and it startled her so much that her eyes snapped open and her hands went still. He stood there, beside her bed, his arms folded across his chest, grin wicked in the dim light.“Oh, shit,” she said. She lifted her hands, throwing her arms back against the bed as though it was not perfectly obvious what she’d been doing.“Language,” he purred.





	Calyptra thalictri

**Author's Note:**

> More [imports from tumblr.](https://starcunning.tumblr.com/post/180907061549/calyptra-thalictri) This one came by private request of a long-time friend.
> 
> _Calyptra thalictri_ is also known as the vampire moth due to its ability to pierce skin in order to drink blood.

The Rising Stones was much too large a place for its staff, even with the Crystal Braves quartered there. Kallisti had taken a room on one of the uppermost floors—the climb didn’t bother her half as much as company might. Still, there was nothing quite like a locked door.

She’d checked hers three times before slipping into bed for the evening. The … incident … in Gridania was weeks behind her. And despite his threat (promise?) on their first meeting, Nabriales had not returned to the Rising Stones. Neither had Elidibus. It was frustrating to be left to her own devices. She was nothing if not resourceful.

Perhaps she was a few other things besides, like naked and frustrated. The cotton of the bed sheets was soft against her back, having been washed any number of times. The evening air was cool, and there was some temptation to snuggle in beneath the blankets, but for her purposes this would not do.

Silvery moonlight streamed in through the window, falling across the stone floor beside her bed. In its cold glow, she looked at herself. Her nipples were already pebbled, stiff where she skimmed the nail of her thumb over one, fingers ghosting against her own ashen skin. It was a poor substitute for the unyielding cold of metal claws, but she could call that memory to mind readily enough, the way his gauntlets pricked against her skin when he took hold of her. Nothing she could do to replicate the feeling of his teeth on her neck, nor the scrape of the leather fangs of his mask in parallel.

She had some minor control over her own aether, and could bring it to the surface of her skin as though preparing a spell, but it required focus that would desert her as her fingers slipped between her thighs. It felt strange, to have such freedom, to run her fingers over her skin, bereft of his aetherial shackles. She was warm and wet as she stroked herself, dipping one finger into her hungry cunt so that she could smear her own wetness over her folds. Kallie brought her knees up, bracing her heels against the mattress. She could feel her tail twitch and coil, batting against her own ankles as she lifted her hips into her own touch, her aether fizzling over her skin.

Remembering him. The way his hand felt about her throat, keeping her mouth from his in a moment she had been so desperate to kiss him. Would she be any less desperate now? She couldn’t help but doubt it.

Something in the Ascian’s body called to hers; she could feel that whenever he was around, and more keenly in his long absences. With nothing to reach for she had grown restless; this was not the first time she had sought relief in this manner. She had tried to think of other things, but in that key moment—always she recalled him; the crimson mask, the cruel smirk. She knew where the office in Ul’dah was that he had taken her. Kallisti considered returning there, issuing the proper bribes—it was Ul’dah; anyone could be bribed—and slipping into that office.

She could strip naked there, could sit in that grand leather chair, could plant her heels against the edge of his desk, legs spread wide apart, and do as she did now, circling her clit with a fingertip. Kallie bit her lip, stifling her cry.

It was better than trying to ignore him, but it was still not quite good enough. Then—now—in the fantasy where she ambushed him in his office—it didn’t much matter. She needed him. She needed …  
“Nabriales,” she whimpered.

“Yes?” she heard, and it startled her so much that her eyes snapped open and her hands went still. He stood there, beside her bed, his arms folded across his chest, grin wicked in the dim light.  
“Oh, shit,” she said. She lifted her hands, throwing her arms back against the bed as though it was not perfectly obvious what she’d been doing.  
“Language,” he purred.  
“I didn’t think—how did you—” She scrambled to sit up even as the half-formed questions spilled from her.  
“I told you I could return whenever I wanted,” Nabriales said, reaching down to trace a line from the teardrop mark on her brow down over the bridge of her nose.  
Her lips parted as his claw-tip passed over them, tip of her tongue touching cool metal and tasting iron. “Why now?”  
“You asked,” he said, as though it were so simple.  
Kallisti lifted a hand to the nape of her neck, touching the pyramid shape of her brand. It felt warm beneath her fingers. “You heard me?” she asked, sounding perplexed.  
“You _are_ mine,” he reminded her, his claw skating over her chin, her throat, her collarbone. “Or had you forgotten?”  
“Never,” she breathed.  
He leaned over her, the clawed tines of his gauntlet caressing her throat as she tipped her chin upward. Kallisti strained upward to brush her lips against his own, laughter spilling from his closed mouth.

Then he slammed her back against the mattress, his hand around her throat. The other trailed over her body, and she could not help but shiver at the rasp of metal claws against her flesh. She felt the prickle of aether against her skin, dark shackles winding about her ankles to pull her legs apart and straighten her knees.

He held her utterly still as his hand dared lower, a single steel claw-tip tracing the cleft between her labia—down, then up, unyielding metal tracing a tight circle around the hood of her clit. She whimpered, not daring to wiggle her hips.  
“Is your need so great, little fool?” he asked her, lifting both hands from her slowly.  
“Yes,” she whimpered.

His gauntlet melted away like smoke, and he plunged two fingers of his bare hand into her. She moaned, arching to press herself into his touch. “So it is,” he said, pulling out of her and wiping his fingers off on her stomach. He stood, and she could not help the mewl that escaped her.  
“Don’t go,” she said. When she heard him begin to laugh, she could only add, “Please.”

He stepped into the moonlight, but it fell not upon mask and robes but only upon bare skin. The Hyur was tall, pale. Trimly muscled; a swimmer’s build, they called it in La Noscea. His hair was lighter than she expected, his face surprisingly youthful. The smile she knew—more a wicked grin, really, as he leaned over her, planting one knee on the bed. She reached for his ready cock with one hand, wrapping her fingers about his shaft, feeling the heat and hardness of him.

“Nabriales,” she murmured. He did not look much like one, she decided, though she knew little enough about Hyuran names to decide on another for him.

He did not answer her, only leaned over her to claim her mouth in a hungry, urgent kiss, teeth raking the swell of her lower lip as he withdrew. With the movement she could see a shard of some dark glassy material bound about his throat. It looked like the tooth of some ancient predator; like it would cut her skin as soon as touch it. She wanted to run a finger along its edge anyway, and lifted her hand to do so. The Paragon caught her wrist, grasping tightly, and fixed her with his gaze. “Do not presume so much,” he said, then let her hand go.

She touched it anyway, with the pad of her thumb, and felt the sharp pain of a knife stroke. A rivulet of dark blood welled in the wound. Before it could fall, Nabriales brought the digit to his lips, laving his tongue over it. She could feel, all too clearly, the rasp of his tongue over the split in her flesh, the heat of his breath almost searing. His fingers remained curled around her own a long few moments, his gaze fixed implacably upon her as he nursed her blood from her finger. At length he let go.

She let out a low whine, then skimmed her hand down over his arm, pulling his hand to her chest. He clutched at her breast almost painfully tightly, but the noise that escaped her was not one of protest. Nabriales shifted his weight to kneel between her legs, catching her other wrist and pinning it to the bed with his hand. She could feel the head of his cock brush against her, ground between her folds, nudging at her. “Please,” she whimpered.  
“Please what,” said the Ascian, letting go of her breast to slip his arm under her, wrapping it around the small of her back to lift her hips from the mattress. He bowed over her not to kiss her, but to bite at the side of her neck, teeth sharp against the sensitive skin, sucking hard on the flesh, tongue lashing the forming bruise.  
“Please,” she whimpered all the while. “Please fuck me. I’ll die if you don’t fuck me.”  
That made him laugh. “What an interesting thought,” he said, his tone so much more composed than hers. “You will not _die,_ Kallisti,” he informed her.  
She waggled her hips against him. “Then life isn’t worth living!” she protested.  
He pulled away, and she made some noise of despair before he hauled her after, her knees bent, thighs wrenched further apart. “You do suffer, don’t you,” he cooed, tone almost mocking.

He slipped his arm out from underneath her, grasping the base of his cock to tease it along her slit. She wriggled against him, trying to press herself against him, to bury him in her, and though he did not bind her, neither did he allow her what she sought. She lifted her hands to touch him, and he took hold of her wrists, stretching them over her head, his chest pressed to hers. She could feel her skin prickle with sensation and hunger, aether flowing over her body. When he drew back, she found her wrists bound. His hands skimmed over her body, breasts to stomach, nails raking the inside of her thighs before he plunged his fingers into her again, grinding his thumb against her clit. She could not help but to moan, a curse parting her lips, and she saw him smile.

Looking down the line of her own body at him, she could not help but to think how young he was, how utterly normal, as though she could have met him anywhere. He was not, though, and she could not forget it, not with the way his every touch disrupted and bestirred her aether, making her shiver. His fingers stroked her walls eagerly, thumb slipping against her clit until she panted, and then he grasped her by the hips, lifting her from the bed.

He entered her without a word, simply buried himself in her. She could feel the way he stretched her, his nails digging into her hips.  
“Nabriales,” she whimpered, so on edge that she was afraid she might lose herself even then. He slipped an arm about her thigh, pulling her down so that she strained between her bonds, buried wholly in her. She arched and ground against his body, and he chuckled.  
“Needy thing,” he scolded her.  
“Yes,” she whimpered.  
He let go of her other hip so that he could palm her breast once more, beginning to roll his hips against her. No effort showed in his face, only his cruel amusement at every whimper that escaped her. He bowed himself over her to take her nipple in his teeth. The pain was sharp, and seemed to hone her sensations so that his every stroke seemed still more intense. He snaked his hand between them to stroke her clit, and the curses that followed echoed on the stone walls of her chamber.

He was relentless. She knew this of him and still found herself surprised, that his pace never flagged, that he never seemed to tire. She wanted to run her hands through his tousled hair, to hold his mouth against her chest, though he was not at all eager to lift his mouth from her skin in any case. He left bite marks in his passing, every one of them a blessing too long absent. She needed them, needed this, needed him—and all too soon her peak was upon her.

“Nabriales,” she whimpered again, as she could not help but do when she came. She clutched at him, could feel herself squeeze at him, and still he did not relent, his fingers massaging her clit in a torturous, unrelenting pattern. She barely had time to come down from the first orgasm before the second gripped her, and she thrashed in her bonds, trying to reach him, to wrap herself around him, to feel him wholly and completely. Heat suffused her; she could feel the sweat upon her skin trickling over her sides.

Mercifully, he did not subject her to a third; as she came down from the pair in their quick succession she could feel the pounding of her heart, the heaving of her chest. Nabriales released her from her bonds, but she did not try to rise from her place atop the bed. She lifted a hand to press it to his chest. His skin was warm, as it should be, but she could not feel his heartbeat; no sweat trickled over her skin. He took her wrist, gently, and lifted her arm so that he could rasp his teeth over the inside of her wrist.

“Thank you,” she said. It was the sort of comment that prompted no reply, and she was not surprised when she did not receive one. Kallisti stretched herself out, closing her eyes. He patted her cheek, almost fondly, but when she lifted her hand to touch his arm she felt only the air, and when she opened her eyes again, he was gone.


End file.
